Death Date
by h-swan-h
Summary: Whenever Bella meets someone new, no matter who, as soon as she looks into their eyes, a number pops into her head. That number is a date: the date they will die. What will happen when Bella moves to forks?
1. Chapter 1

My name is Bella. I have a secret - deep, dark and incomprehensible. It is one possession of mine which I loathe completely, and one which I swear I will never reveal to anyone. My eyes. Never peer into them. Never peek, look or gaze into my eyes. Why? You may ask. If you do I will know, just like that, the date you will die.

I haven't always been this way. When I was a young girl, what I thought were random numbers would flash across my mind's eye. I didn't understand it. One situation. One heart-ripping event changed this inability to comprehend the random numbers appearing. For years I had looked into my friend's eyes and seen a number, then on the same date this number was, my friend died. It was from this day forward I understood them to be _death dates_. My innerness longed to remove myself from this abnormality of living. I struggled against it for so long. But I eventually came to terms with this 'power' of mine, and was forced into an abstract existence of dread and misery.

I stared at the pavement as I shuffled along, numb to the world. I stared at the pavement, studying it's every intricacy, desperately willing myself not to look up. This is what my day-to-day life consisted of. I knew the moment I looked up from anything below eye-level, that I was going to catch someone's glance and in that very second BAM! _09.26.11_. I shuddered and carried on staring at the pavement.

"Are you okay?" asked Charlie, peering at me curiously.

I nodded quickly, keeping my eyes glued steadfastly on that pavement. I knew Charlie would suspect otherwise, and the awkwardness that followed began to set in.

I try to focus on his voice - anything other than my own insanity. He had insisted on giving me a tour around the town before school started up on Monday.

I raise my eyes just the slightest, and realize we've approached a building with rather a plain exterior.

"This is the library," Charlie extends his arm towards the frumpy building, "I know it's kind of small, but I don't doubt you will be spending copious amounts of time here," he says with a chuckle.

I nod my head quickly again. I feel the quiet tug of guilt at my heart, because I know he's trying to spark a conversation with me. But I'm so utterly exhausted. So exhausted.

I'd travelled alone on the airplane, and it forced me to look up and acknowledge my surroundings. Seeing so many numbers in a single day tired me out emotionally. I was weary. Looking downwards in the chaotic environment of the airport was not an option, and if it had been, was certainly not a good idea. In an attempt to avoid people's eyes, I bumped into so many people that it resulted in my body evolving into one big bruise.

Charlie's voice snapped me back to the future. "…here's the Café that I used to take you to when you were much younger. Would you like to grab a bit to eat? I'm sure there are people who would love to see how much you've grown," he smiles, eagerness spread on his face.

This was going to be a long day.

The second I arrived back at Charlie's house, I dashed straight to my room. I really ought to be calling it 'home' now.

I retrieve my mobile phone from the unmade bed. Eight missed calls. Damn, this spells bad news. Somehow, I just knew it was my mother. Her voice messages conveyed raw concern, and worry, despite the fact I assured her that the chances of the airplane crashing were extremely low. I knew she worried about me. I could tell she was losing sleep again, and I hoped to God that Paul was looking after her as he always had.

I called my mother and struggled to make conversation for half an hour. My patience, my will was wearing thin. I faked fatigue, and as always, she bought into it and insisted I get some sleep. I was not about to argue.

Although exhaustion was tearing at every part of me by now, I knew sleep was far from me, and as is my custom, I went through the daily routine of saying all the numbers I'd seen that day. Every date. Every single death date. _07.26.11, 05.01.10, 09.07.13, 05…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Beep! Beep! Beep! _The persistent cry of my alarm forces my peaceful body into consciousness. Monday mornings are always hard, but dragging myself out of my haven of warmth and comfort was exceptionally difficult today. The first day of school always makes it somewhat worse. First impressions count for a lot – and I never make a good first impression. I stand and rake my fingers through my hair, sighing deeply. _Well, first day of school; don't want to be late,_ I think to myself sarcastically.

I stood under the warm stream of the shower; eyes closed and wondered with great reluctance whose death dates I would determine today. I wondered this same thing every morning, while standing under the gushing tap, wishing the water would wash away this horrible 'power' of mine. Living my life was very depressing. Everywhere I went, I was reminded of the reality that we all had to die one day. I longed to live a normal life, to not have the morbidity of death creep around at them at every corner.

I looked at myself in the mirror. It stared back at me haughtily. For a long time I've wondered why I can't see my own death date. I look into my eyes all the time. And suddenly it hits me; When I look into the mirror I am not looking into my eyes – I'm only seeing a reflection. I wonder if there's a difference, but shake it off anyway. I grabbed a brush and dragged it through my hair, it so that it almost covers my face – and my eyes. The less I can see the better. My motto in life. I roll my eyes. I gaze into the mirror, and tell myself the day will be over as soon as it started. This didn't cease the nervous jitters inhabiting my stomach, though.

I ran downstairs to prepare Charlie's breakfast. The man admits me to live under his roof, I owe him that at least, excepting the fact that he is my father.

I watched Charlie eat his breakfast, thinking with dread about the school I would be attending. I sensed something was going to happen today, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, and the butterflies in my stomach refused to dissipate.

A tiny bud of bravery sprouted within me and I decided to drive myself to school today. I wouldn't usually venture to do this, but Charlie got me this great new truck. It was ancient, was scattered with many rust spots, and admittedly exerted a lot of noise. But it was mine. And I had a deep and loving attachment to it.

On the drive to school, I prepared for the worst. I knew the name callings wouldn't be hurled at me immediately, but once people began to realize that I wasn't 'normal', they would take every opportunity to slap me in the face with it. I knew that despite this, I would just have to 'take it like a man' and my mother would say. Thinking of Renee brought some comfort. She somehow always knew how to cheer me up. With her ditsy ways and ludicrous ideas, you couldn't be sad for long.

Before I knew it, I arrived at the school. _Well, _I thought, _here goes nothing,_ as I stepped out of the car hesitantly.


End file.
